“No, he never drinks it,” said Hemingway, rising to his feet. “Besides, two's company, and three's none. Now, I've just got to check up on one or two points. Any objection to my going into the study?”
Gladys glanced at the clock. “Fat lot of good it would be to start objecting to the policemen!” she remarked. “ I don't mind, but can't you wait a bit? It's just on the quarter, and I can't miss Mrs. Dale's Diary. Sit down, the pair of you, and listen to it! It's ever so nice.”
“No, we mustn't do that, because we've got to get back to Bellingham,” said Hemingway. “There's no need for you to come with us to the study, though. You stay here and listen-in! I'll see the Inspector doesn't go pinching anything.”
“You haven't half got a nerve! More likely him as'll keep an eye on you, I should think! You won't go turning the room upside-down, will you?”
Hemingway assured her that he would preserve apple-pie order in the room, and as, at that moment, a voice suddenly announced: “Mrs. Dale's Diary: a recording of the daily happenings in the life of a doctor's wife,” she temporarily lost interest in him, and turned the face of a confirmed addict towards the radio.
The two men quietly withdrew, and went along the passage at the back of the house to the hall.
“You found it?” Hemingway said.
The Inspector opened his hand, disclosing a small piece of lead.
“Now we are getting somewhere!” said Hemingway. “We'll send that off to town for comparison with the one that was dug out of Warrenby's head. Knarsdale can take it up tonight.”
“I wish I thought there was a hope of finding the cartridge-case of that one,” said the Inspector.